Scrapbook of the Dead (18 page)

It turned out that Mountain View Assisted Living actually did have a mountain view. Emma's room had one of the prettiest views Beatrice had ever seen from a window. Of course, the fact that it was fall helped. Fall in Cumberland Creek was a colorful, amazing experience. As Emma poured tea, Beatrice looked out the window at the crimsons, golds, reds, and bright, fiery oranges dotting the mountains.

As far as she could tell, her old friend still had her wits about her.

“Why haven't they given you medicine to deal with the fear of leaving your room?” Beatrice asked.

“I'm allergic,” Emma said. “They've yet to find a medicine I don't react to.”

Beatrice frowned. “That's too bad. I'd love to have you over to dinner sometime.”

“Not possible,” Emma said with finality. “You don't mind coming to see me, do you? This place isn't so bad.” She gestured with her arm at her surroundings.

“Your place is lovely. Do you get many visitors?”

“I do. I have some family around. And several of the residents here come and visit with me.”

“I wanted to ask you about Sheriff Bixby,” Beatrice said and then took a sip of tea.
Why not get on with it
, she told herself. She didn't want to upset Emma, but she needed to know.

Emma placed her teacup back in her saucer. It was beautiful, delicate china, the kind that Bea hadn't seen in years. Pink roses had always brought Emma to mind. Nobody drank tea with beautiful china anymore.

“What about him?” asked Emma.

“Was he really threatening you, dear?”

“Oh, he wants to buy my house and I told him I'm not interested in selling.”

“But, to threaten you? That takes balls.”

“The thing is, the property is worth more than the house. I know that. He'd level the house and build something new. Well, he wouldn't build it himself. He'd sell it to that damned Kraft family and they'd build more apartments or a Walmart or something. My granddaddy built that house with his own two hands. And I'll be damned if I give it up.”

“How did he threaten you?” Beatrice persisted.

“He said if I didn't sell willingly, he'd force me and that he's not beyond blackmail or coercion. That scared me because my Michelle is still living in the house and I don't want anything to happen to her. I'm not afraid of him. What can he do to me while I'm in here?” Emma looked out the window, the sunlight reflecting in her blue eyes.

“But he's an officer of the law,” Beatrice said. “Surely he'd not do anything illegal?”

“Humph. I never liked those Bixbys. Sometimes you give a redneck an education and all you have is an educated redneck. Bone deep, I'd say. I didn't like it when Chelsea married him. I still don't like it. But she's my niece, not my daughter, so what could I say?”

“Not much you can say, even if she was your daughter. Vera married Bill and I never really liked him. Well, that's not true. A few months in, when he lived with me I kind of liked him. But then, it just didn't work out between them,” Beatrice said.

All in all, it was a good visit. Beatrice came to find out more about Sheriff Bixby and decided then and there that she'd pay the man a visit and tell him to back off her friend.

 

 

Back home, she told Jon what she'd learned and what she planned to do.

“Listen, Beatrice, he's a police officer. I don't think it's a good idea for you to go storming into his office,” Jon said.

“He's still a person. How dare he threaten Emma? And, by the way, I wouldn't storm. I would sashay, of course.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I know you better than that. And I don't want to have to bail you out of jail.”

“Okay. I promise I won't go storming into his office. But if I see him—”

Jon held up his hand in his dramatic French way as if to stop her from finishing the thought. “I do not want to know.”

Bea shrugged. She could live with that. What the man didn't know wouldn't kill him.

DeeAnn's kitchen table was covered in the Martelino sisters' scrapbooks. Some were haphazardly stacked, some wide open, and some were closed. But the Cumberland Creek scrapbookers were all enthralled. It was a reminder of one of the unspoken reasons they themselves scrapbooked—so that they left behind a neat and tidy pictorial record of their lives. Or at least the lives that they wanted others to know about.

They searched through the books for something—anything—that might be a clue. Not just to understand the cases, but to understand the young women and what brought them to the US. Each one of the sisters had a book focused on her childhood. A few pictures, some drawings, and journaling. All written in scribbled Spanish, which even Annie couldn't read.

But the last books they had been working on had more photos. Photos of friends, of one another, of the town, Christmas celebrations, picnics, and so on.

“They seem to go on a lot of picnics,” Paige remarked.

DeeAnn set a plate of still-warm brownies in the center of the table. Each woman reached for one. There was nothing like a warm brownie.

“They liked being outside, that much is clear,” Sheila said with her mouth half full.

“Oh my GAWD, these brownies are good!” said Annie. “But back to the sisters—think about it. It must be so different here from where they grew up. They were probably in awe of the mountains and the seasons.”

“I imagine,” agreed DeeAnn, turning the page on the scrapbook she was looking over. Esmeralda had a good eye for color and placement of her photos.

“I just don't see anything here,” Sheila said, shutting the book she had been looking over and reaching for another brownie.

DeeAnn turned the page again. It wasn't falling back into place and was a bit wavy. Something was off in the book. “Wait. This is strange.”

“What?” Annie said, leaning over toward her.

DeeAnn flipped the page again. “I think a page is missing here.”

“Let me see. You're right. Look.” Sheila ran her finger along the inside of the book where the pages came together. “Someone ripped the page out.”

“Maybe it's the page that the police found on her?” Annie wondered.

“Even if it is, what does that tell us?” Paige asked.

The women sat in silence for a few minutes in DeeAnn's kitchen, decorated in bright red strawberry patterns—the curtains, the tablecloth, pot holders, and dish towels. Even her tea kettle had strawberries on it.

“I wonder if we can find where the missing page is in Marina's book,” Sheila said.

“I think we have one more of her books over here,” Paige said, reaching for the book in question and sliding it into the center of the table.

Jacob walked into the kitchen. “Hello, ladies.”

Halfhearted hellos came from the circle of women around the table. They were engrossed in searching for clues.

Jacob went over to DeeAnn and kissed her. “I'm going to the store. You need anything?”

“No thanks,” DeeAnn said, only half paying attention to him. They were on to something. She could feel it. Jacob's presence was disturbing the energy in the room and she wanted him to leave.

He left and it was as if the room sighed in relief.

“Here,” Paige said. “Here's where the missing page is.”

“Aha,” Annie said, lifting the other books from the table and setting them on the floor. She set both books open to where the pages were missing. Pages before and after were about a hike or picnic, which was exactly what was on the pages found on their bodies.

“There must be something about this day,” Annie said.

“We need to find out more about it. When was it? Who was there? What significance did it have in their lives?” said Vera.

“But why?” Sheila said. “How will that help?”

“Think about it, Sheila,” Paige said.

“Oh don't make me think!” Sheila tittered. “That's the last thing I want to do!”

“Do you think a killer would leave clues so blatantly like that?” DeeAnn questioned.

“It wasn't really blatant,” Annie said. “I mean, the police looked for fingerprints and stuff on the actual pages, but they didn't look in their scrapbooks. Why would they?”

“Besides, some killers like to leave clues. Deep down, they really want to get caught. It's a cry for help,” Vera said.

All of the women looked at her. It was an odd thing to hear coming out of her mouth.

She frowned. “What? Don't you watch
CSI
?”

“What's that?” Paige asked.

“It's a TV show,” Vera said.

“Oh, well you know how I feel about TV,” Paige said.

“So all we need to do is figure out what happened on this day. Reconstruct it and it might lead us to the killer before he kills again,” Vera said.

“Exactly,” Annie replied. “First order of business is to get copies of the pages from the police. Then I'll talk to Rosa. Maybe she was there that day.”

“I have a better idea,” DeeAnn said. “Why don't you take the copies with you on Friday night. You're going to their crop, right?”

“Yes, but I'm not sure I want to wait until then. I feel a sense of urgency about this.” Annie said. “Two women have been killed. We're not sure how many others there could be, given that employees have been disappearing from the Pie Palace for years, evidently. We don't know if they were all linked, but we know at least two were.”

“Should we take the books to Bryant and tell him our theory?” Paige asked.

The mention of Bryant's name made DeeAnn's face redden. She still could not believe that Karen was dating him.

Annie didn't notice DeeAnn's embarrassment as she was deep in thought. “I think we should keep this all to ourselves for now, until we find something more substantial. Really, at this point, it's all conjecture.”

The slight quiver in her voice led DeeAnn to believe it was more than that. She felt it in her bones that reconstructing the scrapbooked day was going to lead them straight to the killer.

Armed with the scrapbooks that had pages torn out of them, Annie headed over to Rosa's apartment. She had called ahead and Rosa had said to please come.

Annie pulled into the parking lot. The same group of men were standing around a motorcycle. When they looked over at her, she remembered what Rosa had said about them being “middle-aged losers that hang out in the parking lot because they don't have anything better to do.” She smiled at them and kind of waved. Most of them nodded their heads and smiled back. Annie almost laughed when she thought of how frightened she was the first time she had seen them standing there.

“Hey, Annie,” Rosa said when she opened her door. “Please come in.”

After they sat down and were situated at the kitchen table, Annie opened the scrapbooks. “We think this is where the pages were torn out.”

“It certainly looks that way,” Rosa agreed.

“Can you tell me anything about this day? It appears to be outside, some kind of gathering?”

“Humph,” Rosa said, looking over the pictures. “I think this is the Pie Palace's annual employee picnic.”

“Interesting. I didn't know they had one, but it seems like a nice thing to do.”

“They say Pamela is great to work for.”

Annie sifted through her thoughts.
Great to work for, but has a temper
. “Is it only employees that go to this picnic?”

“And their families,” Rosa replied. “It's a big thing.”

“It seems so simple.”

“What does?”

“Our killer left scrapbook pages on the sisters. Both about the same day, the same event. He or she must have been there, don't you think? Any ideas?”

Rosa shook her head. “No, but I wish I did.” But she seemed shaken.

“Are you sure?” Annie questioned.

Rosa bit her lip. “I'm sure it's nothing. . . .”

“If I had a dime for every time I've said that . . .” Annie smiled.

“It's just that Jorge creeps me out. I know he's Irina's nephew. But I don't know. The way he's always hanging around. There's something about him.”

“Would he have been there that day?” Annie said.

Rosa nodded. “Maybe. He works at the Pie Palace. And he likes to take pictures. Maybe he even took the pictures on those pages.”

A shiver traveled the length of Annie's spine. Was Jorge capable of murder? If he was, what was it about the sisters or their scrapbooks, that had set him off? She shook off her thoughts. “Irina said he was harmless.”

“Who knows? He just creeps me out. I know that Marina did not like him. We talked about it. He asked her out once.”

“He asked her out?” Annie's heart nearly leaped out of her chest.

“He sure did. He really liked her. She told him no. He tried for a while, but not very long. A few weeks maybe. Then Pamela stepped in and told him employees weren't allowed to date each other.”

Pamela!
Annie had thought all along that she knew more than she was telling. It was time for another visit.

“Thanks, Rosa. You've been very helpful,” Annie said, glancing at her watch. It was getting late; the boys would be home soon. She needed to get home.

After saying good-bye, Annie almost ran into Bryant on the stairs. He was heading up as she was going down.

“Annie, what are you doing here?”

“Working on a story,” she told him, clutching the scrapbooks to her chest.

“What have you got there?” he said, a crooked smirk forming.

“Scrapbooks, Adam,” she said with an edge.

“What's going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”

“Business.”

“Police business?”

“Of course. Now let me see those scrapbooks.”

Annie shrugged and handed him the books.

He stood on the stairs and flipped through the books. “What am I missing here?”

Annie's stomach flip-flopped. She'd never withheld information from the police before. She wasn't that kind of reporter; she was always cooperative. And they reciprocated. But this was Adam Bryant. Sarcastic. Usually not helpful. The man she had almost had an affair with. And he was dating twenty five-year-old Karen Fields.

“Annie?” Bryant said. “Earth to Annie.”

“There's missing pages in those books,” she blurted out. “We think the pages you and Bixby have came from these books.”

“You just found that out?”

She nodded.

“And you were coming to find me, right? To tell me everything, right? Because you wouldn't keep this to yourself,” he said in a patronizing tone.

“No,” she said and took a deep breath. “I was on my way home. My boys will be home soon. I was still thinking things over.”

“What things? What have you found out?”

“The pictures on those pages you have were taken at the Pie Palace's employee picnic.”

“And?”

“Seems like your killer might have been there.”

“You think it's that simple?” He handed the books back to her.

“Here's what I think. There's nothing like a disturbed man who has been recently spurned,” Annie said.

Their eyes met, and then Bryant guffawed. “Women,” he said and continued walking up the steps, leaving Annie and her scrapbooks behind.